


Crazy

by Rachel24601



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-11 10:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16473830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel24601/pseuds/Rachel24601
Summary: When the Tenth Doctor and Rose land in the middle of a jungle, they're far from expecting they're about to get mixed up in a revolution, and that it will be the ideal time to face the feelings they've been hiding from each other... and from themselves. Ten/Rose. Rated T for sexual situations and cursing.





	1. Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> AN: before we get started, I am no expert on the Doctor Who timeline, so I’ll be using dates that may have been mentioned in the show and that may not correspond to what’s taken place there. Most characters (apart from Rose and the doctor) will probably be original. It’s my first multiple-chapter story in the fandom so I’m very excited to hear your reactions. Hope you’ll enjoy.

 

Though Rose Tyler is by no means the first girl to enter the Tardis, she is the first who’s managed to make it look _domestic_. There’re clues scattered all over the place for him to pick up and admonish her if he cared to. A pink jacket left to hang on one of the levers of his brilliant time machine, as if it were a vulgar object – a chair, a coat rack. Books, notepads, eyeliner and lipstick. Why does she even need a purse if its content is always bound to be outside of it?

He’s warned her about this. Everything here is important. Too important for her to leave her things hanging around. And yet, as he takes an honest, fatalistic look at his Tardis, strewn with girlish items, the doctor feels no desire to argue. He’s had other companions who weren’t so much awed by the time machine that they didn’t dare to exist in it, but Rose is different – she’s made a home there. Without asking for permission or forgiveness, but naturally, as if it was just the way of the world.

_And so it is_ , he thinks to himself. _Maybe there’s a time for everything_.

“Morning.”

She surprises him, slithers out of her room. He didn’t hear her get up. There’s a cup of coffee in her hand, the very same cup he’s made for himself just a few minutes ago, before wandering out of the kitchen to take a look at the main room. Now, of course, the coffee’s ruined by all the milk and sugar she added in.

Rose smiles as he raises her eyes back to her face and takes an innocent sip, like nothing’s righter than drinking his fresh coffee. Talking about things getting domestic.

“Is that mine?” As if the question needed asking.

“I’d taken it for granted you’d had yours already. I thought it might become a new habit, waking up to something hot to drink. How neat. In case it’s giving you any ideas, I’m much more of a tea person.”

“You’re welcome.”

 “Hey, I deserve it. I’ve had a hard time sleeping tonight. Did we go into some sort of space storm or something?”

He can’t argue there. It’s been a rocky descent back to earth and he’s been up most of the night himself getting them through in one piece.

“Yes, you could call it that.” He answers cautiously. Watching her casually drink his coffee. Until recently, he thought he knew her tricks whenever she was up to something. It’s only fair. He has years of experience, after all. But in the past few weeks – or is it months? – it feels like they’ve been playing a game that’s a lot like the sort he’s known with other companions before her, but with too great a variation for him to be completely sure. They’ve been descending into _normality_. Not just living adventures but sharing quieter moments – pleasant, adrenalin-free.

He watches her lips over the porcelain brim, enjoying the bitter-sugary foam.

The doctor decides he’ll call this the Rose Tyler Paradox. It’s part of the game, living mad experiences with him, following him to the end of the world and the apocalypse – that’s what he sells, what he promises. And, yes, sometimes there’ll be some flirt thrown in it, and he never fights against getting attached because that’s the way of things – between loving none of his companions and loving them all, he’s chosen the latter – but it’s never anything like the un-thrilling joys of ordinary life.

He’s not a boyfriend or a husband.  He’s the doctor. That’s the package deal, that’s the only shape he comes in.

But Rose, Rose is not just a companion. _And what’s worse_ , he thinks, _she knows it_. A cool, cynical voice seeps in – _when she’s gone, will you miss the extraordinary, the time travels, or will you miss this, the untidiness of her stuff scattered about, her stealing your coffee in the morning?_

Because she will go. The doctor’s been around too long to be an idealist. However much he gives them, no matter how many heart-stopping sights he provides, in the end, they all leave him.

He’s heard a few of them say _Forever_ before, but he alone knows, forever is lonely. They shouldn’t speak words they don’t understand.

So why does Rose smile at him sometimes as if she’s thinking the exact same thing?

“So,” she says, putting down the mug of coffee on the first horizontal surface she can find – terrific. She’s using his advanced technology as a mere kitchen table and she’s not even bothering with a coaster. “What year is it?”

“Around 3099.”

“Haven’t we been there already?”

He smiles. He likes how she makes it sound like this life could get redundant, like he could turn into a boring old man. Rose has the same, very slight stamp of arrogance shared by all young and beautiful people. It has its charms, he can’t deny it, even on someone who’s basically as old as time itself. It has its charms.

“Well,” he answers, teases right back, “we might have been to _England_ in the late fourth century, but why let that stop us from thinking wider? I mean, unless you’re homesick already.”

It’s actually been a while since he’s taken Rose home for a bit. How long have they been travelling together? He can’t remember how many years, but they are talking years, surely.

“Not in the slightest.” She rises to the challenge.

He shrugs. “Italy’s rather nice this time in history. No, wait – am I mixing my dates up again?” He remembers there’ll be some political turmoil leading to civil war at some point, but he can’t remember if it’s in the fourth or fifth century. “Never mind. Anywhere but Italy.”

“Why not leave Europe aside altogether?”

“Your wish is my command.”

She raises a brow, like she knows he means it. “Okay,” she says. “Surprise me. But somewhere hot. Where the beetles aren’t too big. And –”

“Rose,” he cuts her off, with a mock chiding tone, “time travel isn’t an _a la carte_ menu.”

He raises the lever for effect and they go up whirling. The coffee cup comes crashing on the floor. Rose finds balance against the wall expertly enough. She’s been there long enough to land on her feet. He shouldn’t love this, watching her struggle against gravity, holding tight as the Tardis rocks its way through time. Maybe it’s just that he’s thought of making her stumble, losing balance, for other reasons, in hundreds of different ways, the feel of her body swaying against his –

No. Now, they’re on their way to someplace new, it’s better that they don’t stick around here too long, better that they’re outside the Tardis rather than _inside_ , with no one trying to kill them, no aliens or humans to save, no distractions at all.

But he’s been paying too much attention to her and not enough to the Tardis. He meant to send them somewhere near Florida but something’s gone wrong and they’re off course.

“Damn it,” he curses.

“What is it? Are we lost?” She asks without genuine concern.

“Sort of. We shouldn’t be too far off –”

Rose arches a skeptical brow. He has to admire her ability to hang on for dear life and look sarcastic at the same time. “You know,” she says, “we should buy your Tardis a new sense of direction.”

“Now, that’s not fair.” It really isn’t. They’re used to teasing each other but the Tardis is sacred, is like his baby – which is probably why she never tires of using it.

“Should I name all the times we’ve landed in the wrong place? Puerto Rico. Barcelona. Disneyland.”

“Hey, you _loved_ Disneyland.”

“That didn’t make us any less lost.”

Soon the ride gets too rocky for her to sustain the argument. Ha. The Tardis might lack a sense of direction, it sure isn’t running short on stamina.

Finally, the air gets even and quieter, and he watches as Rose releases her hold on the wall behind her – too soon, he thinks, just as one last spasm sends her flying across the room.

“Christ.” He lets go just a few seconds later and flies to her side. Though he doesn’t get the chance to help her up or be chivalrous – she’s basically on her feet by the time he gets there.

“I’m all right.” She brushes imaginary dust from her clothes – a tank top and some tight shorts he’s never seen her wear before. Of course, they have to buy her clothes frequently enough. With their lifestyle, it’s easy to get holes in them or any alien substance that leaves them ruined – probably, they’ll be due to go shopping again soon.

That’s the sort of little things that does it, that tells him Rose has been around longer than most companions. But he ignores the warnings. What else is there to do?

“Am I dressed for the weather?” She asks.

He shrugs evasively. “We’ll see.”

Then, he extends his hand and, sure enough, she takes it, and out they go, towards the door of the Tardis, off to one more adventure…

For a second, absurd, inexplicable glitch, he sees himself stopping her, turning her back around. _Let’s not go_ , he would say. _Not today. Let’s just stay here, hidden from the world. Let’s just steal immortality and cheat the clock forever_.

“Are you dragging your feet?” She aims an effective smile at him.

“On the contrary,” he claims. “Ready as ever.”

“Good.”

And, of course, she means it. After all, isn’t she here for the fun ride, the wonderful travels?

But if he had asked her to stay, he has this feeling she wouldn’t have called him crazy.

They open the door and take the leap together. The outside air is hot and thick, smells faintly of burnt grass and wilderness.

_Here we go. No more turning back_. He can’t say exactly where they are, but it’s not Florida for sure. _Where did you take us?_ He wonders. Will it be dangerous, packed with unbelievable creatures and plenty of thrill? Most certainly. The Tardis is full of surprises.

So is the young woman at his side. Maybe, the next time he feels like sticking this one out, when his mind sways between going or staying, he’ll let Rose decide.

 

 

 


	2. The Jungle

 

The first thing Rose notices when they step out of the Tardis is everything is green. Sunlight filtered by the canopy of leaves that cover the sky gives the air an emerald glow. It’s only when they take a few more steps and hear a wet _splosh_ that she looks down and realizes they’re two feet deep into a warm stream of water.

She must be making a face because the doctor is laughing when she looks up. “Count your blessings, Rose. At least we’ve landed in the right season.”

That’s for sure. The air is so hot, Rose can feel it as it enters her mouth and seeps into her lungs. No summer has ever been so hot as what she’s experiencing right now. Incredible that, a few years ago, she was a nineteen-year-old who’d never stepped foot out of England and now she can tell just from the foreign _taste_ in the atmosphere that they’re on a whole new continent.

“Where is this?”

“South America, I believe. If I’m not mistaken in my politics, there’ve been efforts to unite the subcontinent in the past two centuries. Lots of countries have changed their names – so, really, I couldn’t even tell you where we are without being anachronical.”

Rose makes sure he catches it when she faintly rolls her eyes at him. _Show-off_. “Yeah. And I’ll bet there’re plenty of forests like this in South America?”

“Jungles. And, why, yes, you’re correct.”

Her hand is still tucked into his and he brushes her knuckles with his thumb – ever so slightly. Grabbing her by the hand is maybe the first thing he’s ever done to her, it came before hello or any introduction. Maybe he doesn’t think she can tell the difference, but it’s different now, his way of touching her.

Maybe he himself is unaware of it.

Yet again. He’s been alive for so many years, she probably shouldn’t underestimate him; he’s had time to learn not to be careless.

“Shall we?” His lips break into a smile as he leads the way.

Rose has to admit, the farther they get from the Tardis, the less convinced she is this is the ideal place for a holiday. Not that she’d ever admit that to _him_ , of course – if he’s game, she’s game. It’s just how things work. It matters to her that he understands there’s no place too scary, no ground too hostile where she can’t follow. In these moments, Rose forgets the differences between them. That, of course, she’s at a disadvantage, that she’s barely an adult, that’s she’s _human_ – the doctor might insist he’s not immortal, he knows, and she knows, she’s the more mortal of them both.

What a sad, unfair position. Rose doesn’t care that the doctor loves humans, probably took her in in the first place _because_ she’s human. Sometimes, it feels cruel, like if they’re not going to be on an equal footing, it isn’t right for him to love her in the first place.

That’s what she might answer if he ever tells her, which he never does.

( _Does it need saying?_ )

Maybe because she knows – which to be fair, she does – but maybe because he’s afraid of what _she_ ’ll say, because with her, it’ll matter more than with the others.

_Why did you show me eternity if you knew you couldn’t share it?_

She won’t forget the words he spoke to her, when they ran into one of his old companions. ‘You can spend the rest of your life with me. But I can never spend mine with yours.’

So maybe there’s no point in following where he goes, in going on such wonderful journeys together – but what else is there? If she left, if she _stopped_ , Rose Tyler is quite convinced nothing would ever matter to her anymore.

“Wait,” the doctor’s hand reaches higher, clutches her forearm until she’s stilled behind him.

“What is it?” She asks as he prods the high grass with the tip of his shoe.

“ _That_ is a wonderful evidence of species evolution, Rose. Wait a second.” He turns to her, his nose puckered. “You’re not scared of snakes, are you?”

“Hum…”

So at least she knows what to expect. In fact, Rose’s never had the occasion of being afraid of such a thing as snakes, has never seen one in London, unsurprisingly enough.

The gleam in the doctor’s eye is undiluted excitement and just a little spark of madness. How is it that he takes her to the most dangerous of places and yet, Rose feels she didn’t know what it was to be _alive_ until she joined his side?

Carefully, while his eyes are fixed on her in a blend of challenge and malice, he removes his foot from the grass and Rose can make out the slithering shape of a thick, blue-scaled snake.

Her heart races from the sight, thrill – or maybe shock – draws a smile on her lips. She’s never seen a snake like that, even on television. Its skin looks like a gem, blue as robins’ eggs.

“Do they exist when I’m from?” She asks.

“No – not for a few more centuries, I should think.” His hand is firm around her wrist now. “We should get going, though. They don’t generally bite humans, but when they do, it doesn’t tend to end well for your kind.”

Smoothly, he draws her away from the animal, and Rose makes a closer inspection of the ground with each footstep. “Are there other venomous crawlers I should look out for?”

“Well, every jungle’s got its fair share of nasty beetles. Bullet ants, poison frogs, and spiders, of course.”

“Ew. I’ll take snakes over spiders any day of the week.”

The doctor casts a look at her. “You want to head back? We can go somewhere a little more comfortable. Really, we can even wait a little before we decide – it’s not like a couple of days in the Tardis will kill us.”

Rose raises her brows at him, appraising his face for clues. Is he testing her? The doctor’s not one to say no to an adventure, and they’ve hardly been there for half an hour. He’s made it clear a long time ago that his companions adopt his lifestyle and not – _never_ – the other way around. Sometimes, by the time he and Rose return to the Tardis, she feels like she’s been stranded on a desert island for years and that blue-box of a time machine is a rescue ship. A ship that never takes you home, always on a new adventure, but which is sometimes a _sort of home_ in itself.

Now is much too early to head back, not that she’d have anything against it. Sometimes, she and the doctor have stayed on the Tardis for as long as a few days, doing nothing but exchanging quiet thoughts, eating strange food from stranger worlds, looking at the stars, the earth that looks like a tiny dot from where they are. Sometimes, Rose has those thoughts she can’t quite repress, when it strikes her it’s these _anticlimactic_ moments she cherishes most. When they’ve saved the day – if not the world – have stopped another apocalypse, saved millions of alien or human lives, and they indulge in a few hours of break, eating chips at a random diner.

It’s not that she misses normal. It’s just that the rush of extraordinary journeys so often sweeps away other things that matter…

Rose’s eyes turn slightly suspicious. What game is he playing? “ _You_ want to go back?” She weighs each word carefully.

“Oh, no,” his answer is hasty and sure. “No, I’m right as rain, Rose Tyler. Just that I’d be willing to, if you’re not in the mood –”

“Of course not.” She scowls, wants to sound offended. “I’ll teach you better than to coddle me, old man.” Out of defiance, she breaks loose from the hold of his hand, smiles playfully at him. “I’ll walk first and you can follow, how’s that?”

“I’m actually not sure –”

“What, afraid you can’t catch up?”

He sighs. The look in his eyes is serious. _You’ll be the death of me, woman_.

“Just be careful,” he says. “You never know the sort of things –”

Rose’s scream cuts into his words, and suddenly the doctor’s blood runs cold, as if a silver knife has pierced the fabric of his sanity.

“ _Rose_.”               

He’s heard her scream from fear before, surprise, but this is different. She’s _hurt_. He knows, right away, and can’t exactly explain how he flies to her side and puts his arms around her, the distance is bridged in a haze.

Suddenly, the young woman is in his arms, her eyes fading in awareness and recognition. He feels the warm moistness of blood on his fingers and realizes an arrow sticks out from the ground, at his feet.

When he looks up from Rose’s face, the figures of a dozen men are slowly disentangling from the dark mass of trees ahead. Their clothes and camouflage hint they’re ready for warfare.

“What do you think?” One of them asks, most likely to the leader, a young man who is holding a crossbow. “Does he look like a barbarian to you?”

The doctor realizes they’re talking about him, trying to determine if he poses a threat.

Their timing couldn’t be worse. With Rose Tyler bleeding in his arms, the doctor not only _looks_ like a barbarian. He very much feels like one.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please share your thoughts. Also, if you’ve got any ideas for stories starring Rose and 10, I’m willing to give them a try, including AU.


	3. Time

In the span of a few seconds, while the group observes the doctor cautiously, he prays for rational thoughts, for a sudden burst of clarity to come in and save him. Only humans would lose their cool in this sort of situation. Only humans would stare in helpless fear and fury at the unconscious blonde, whose face is turning ash, whose hot blood feels irreversible on their fingers.

“No,” he hears himself say. Ridiculous. _Ridiculous_. “No.”

He should be negotiating. He should be convincing the armed group in front of him he isn’t a threat.

“Hey, sir?” One of the men speaks.

Though the doctor doesn’t look up from Rose’s face, he identifies the voice as belonging to the young man holding a crossbow. In all likelihood, the leader – and the man who shot Rose.

“Would you mind putting your hands where I can see them?”

Then the doctor does look back at him, which is a rookie miscalculation. Just in the way that the man’s hands straighten around his weapon, the doctor knows his eyes are full of that savage, unearthly gleam that sometimes makes its way in. The doctor thought he’d gotten better than this at keeping things below the surface. Yet again, he didn’t think he had a problem with accepting death as a natural part of human existence until he felt the weight of Rose’s body in his arms.

“I’m sorry.” He is careful in every word, knows he has to win them over with speech, because his eyes are working against him. “The woman you shot is my friend. I can’t let her go right now. I’m unarmed, and I’m not involved in your conflict.”

The young man chuckles. His reddish hair is long and unwashed, tied behind his head. Their clothes are all the same camouflage shade that made them so hard to spot in the first place.

In the practical part of his brain, which is always working, the doctor tries to gather clues as to who they are, how they could have taken him by surprise.

South America. Clans. Guerilla weapons. Why doesn’t that ring a bell? Granted, the doctor hasn’t been in this continent before around that time of history, is unfamiliar with the specifics –

To the best of his knowledge, the government in place was in the line of unpopular dictatorships – yes, they were actually a popular few – an authoritative state governed by oligarchs, nothing too uncommon in human history. But he’s never heard of a body of resistance hiding in the jungle.

Which means two things, of course.

First of all, they’ll fail.

Second of all, he hasn’t a clue what to expect from them.

The redheaded young man looks appraisingly at him, not lowering his weapon. The men and women standing behind him are his people, he’s only looking out for them.

The fire in the doctor’s eyes isn’t doing him any good.

But maybe the leader’s not completely unmoved by the bleeding girl he’s holding.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“We’ve got no time for this. If you don’t take me somewhere where I can take care of her –”

“I decide what we have time for. You want to save your friend, you’ll play by my rules.”

The doctor’s hands are tight fists, numb, sticky from Rose’s blood. “Whatever you say,” he capitulates. “I’m called the doctor. I’m a traveler, I don’t know much about your world. But if you don’t let me save this woman’s life in the next few minutes, I think I might destroy it.

The redheaded young man waits. This is an important decision. Suddenly, one of his people remarks, “They don’t really look like barbarians to me.”

And that’s good enough for him.

The leader draws in a thoughtful breath. “All right,” he speaks, almost to himself, but without taking his eyes off the doctor. “All right, let’s take them home.”

 

…

 

Rose is vaguely aware of being carried somewhere. Through the blood drumming in her ears, she can hear the rhythm of footsteps beating the ground, blades cutting into the high grass of the jungle. She makes out a vague human chatter but also the myriad noises particular to this new setting she was supposed to merrily discover with the doctor. Swarming insects creep low beneath the grass, flee as the group shuffles its way through the wilderness. Bird wings fluttering from one tree to another, louder than they usually sound – they must be huge, or maybe it’s just easier to focus with your eyes closed, after an arrow pierced through your side. It sure puts things into perspective.

The pain is not _so_ bad, but worse than anything Rose can think of in comparison – worse than when she sprained her ankle on Planet Mars, when a horde of unidentified extraterrestrials were chasing them. The worst possible time the doctor’s ever seen anyone sprain an ankle, he obviously observed, even though the aliens turned out to be relatively harmless and actually friendly.

There was also the time she broke her wrist – nothing dangerous, just a bad fall stepping out of the Tardis – the time she sank knee-deep in a swamp where the mud turned out to have mingled with poisonous substance, _that_ burned for at least a couple of days.

What’s funny is before Rose met the doctor, she’d never so much as broken a fingernail.

_You’d think that’d make me afraid of the pain, that I’d look ridiculous risking my life by his side, the same old joke as the city girl taken to the countryside, who shrieks when she gets dirt on her shoes._

She’s not a little girl the doctor needs to comfort every five seconds.

It’s a small comfort, but Rose welcomes it in.

Maybe, after enough time doing this, she’ll look as little human as him.

The good news is – though Rose is no _doctor_ herself – she doesn’t think the arrow did too much damage. Really, it got her right below the ribs, in the waist, just muscle and fat, she hopes, damaging no organ. She can still feel it sticking out from beneath her top, which has rolled up slightly above her navel.

The doctor is careful not to disturb the arrow as he carries her.

Yes, she can _feel_ , without being able to see whose arms she’s actually in, that it’s him. The feel of his familiar suit against her, the light smell coming from him, one that fills the Tardis, that’s not really more particular than anyone’s regular fragrance, but one she knows she’ll never find anywhere on planet earth. And the gentleness with which he holds her, _too_ _gentle_ , too measured, letting her know how angry he is, that he’s holding back, careful not to leave unintentional bruises on her.

From what she’s gathered, the doctor isn’t big on revenge. It’s just not who he is.

Yet she’s sure if she’d been killed today, that wouldn’t have mattered in the least.

 

…

 

“So, where are you from?” The leader asks, casually enough, as if nothing was more natural than to ask someone casual questions after shooting their friend.

The doctor appraises the man briefly, without interrupting their walk – he said their camp was only half an hour from here and he would like to make it in twenty.

Rose is going to be okay, he knows. Cannot tolerate any alternative. The arrow’s still in, she’s not bleeding too bad, and her pulse is steady. After he’s cleaned her wound and bandaged her up, _then_ , maybe he’ll care about getting to know the people they’ve stumbled upon.

Still, they’re the ones with weapons – the doctor actually thinks he and Rose might have just been taken prisoners – so he answers, “London.”

Monosyllables are supposed to give off the hint that you’re not in the mood for a chat. The doctor would much rather be left alone, give free range to his thoughts –

_Why? So you can ponder on that sham of a paradise you sell these girls, your precious companions, that shameless lie in the word ‘forever’?_

_For-ev-er._

Each letter taunts him, laughs at his illusions.

Mortal blood on his fingers.

It’s been unfair to let her say it, to allow her to deceive herself, to deceive them both.

“I’m Clay, by the way,” the leader resumes. “You want to actually tell me your name, doctor, or do people really call you that?”

“They really call me that.”

“What about your friend’s name?”

The doctor clenches his jaw. Ah, the sort of anger he feels can’t be expressed in human words. Beings who get to be hundreds of years old simply don’t feel things the same way as men do. It doesn’t matter that the difference is a matter of degree rather than nature. _Immortal_ anger isn’t anger at all – you learn to tame it, to live with it always, to accept it as a full-blown part of you like your blood and bones.

_This_ , of course, is what forever looks like. Not Rose’s smiling and youthful face. When Rose is gone, when every place they’ve been together has crumbled into dust, that anger will still be there.

_And so will I_ , the doctor thinks, teeth grinding against teeth.

“She can tell you that herself, when she wakes up,” he answers.

“You’re not really warming up to me, are you?” Clay says, before shrugging his shoulders. “Well. I’ll grow on you. You’ll see. I usually do.”

“You usually shoot unarmed girls as well?”

The doctor gives himself an inward chiding. He knows – _should know_ – better than being impulsive. But the young man just breaks into a careless laugh. “I am sorry about your friend. It’s just I wasn’t expecting anyone peaceful to be wandering about. This is a war zone, you do know that?”

“Afraid we missed the warnings.”

“That’s all right. It’s a big and nasty enemy we’re fighting, we can always use an extra hand.”

The doctor looks down at Rose’s face. But for her slightly pale complexion and the beads of sweat rolling down her forehead, he could almost think she was sleeping.

“No,” he says, and senses as Clay’s eyes on him become sharper. They’re very dark, almost black, oddly make him look like a fox.

The doctor catches the full meaning of their hostile silent.

Just because he’s been trying to make small talk and looking friendly doesn’t mean that they’re friends.

“After we get her fixed up,” the doctor continues, “she and I will just go back to where we came from.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option. We could use a doctor in our ranks. Considering what we’re up against, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Then, Clay’s eyes lower to the unconscious woman in the doctor’s arms. The doctor can feel the young man’s gaze on her, reads the threat that hangs in the air between them.

“You’ll help us,” he says, doesn’t openly establish this as a bargain, “and your friend will be back on her feet in no time. You’ll see,” he says. “She’ll like me too, in time. Like I said. I grow on people.”

Unsurprisingly, the doctor very much doubts that.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had a really pleasant time writing this. Please let me know your reactions and your thoughts on what should happen next. I’ve been given to read very exciting ideas over the years and it’s always nice for the story to be an interactive experience. See you soon with an update!


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